


The Grooviest Thing, The Perfect Dream

by WritingQuill



Series: (30) Days of Johnlock [6]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: 30 Day OTP Challenge, Cuddling & Snuggling, First Time, Fluff, I can't give proper titles, M/M, Morning After, POV Sherlock Holmes, Sharing Clothes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-06
Updated: 2013-04-06
Packaged: 2017-12-07 16:56:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,181
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/750848
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WritingQuill/pseuds/WritingQuill
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Day six: wearing each other's clothes</p><p>It's the morning after their first time. Sherlock wakes up first and grabs the first T-shirt he sees, which happens to be John's.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Grooviest Thing, The Perfect Dream

**Author's Note:**

> A bit of fluff just 'cause. I do like fluff, ha-ha. 
> 
> Anyway, this title comes from 'The Lovecats', by The Cure, which is one of my favourite songs ever, and part of my Johnlock playlist (even though I'm as sucky at making playlists as I am at writing smut *self-deprecating five*)
> 
> Thanks for reading, and enjoy!

As Sherlock drifted back into consciousness, he felt a heavy weight on his waist, and an unfamiliar yet comfortable sort of warmth coming from behind him. He opened his eyes lazily and looked down, saw John’s hand, and remembered the night before, images appearing so clearly in his brain it was like watching television. 

He remembered the way John had touched him, the way his kisses had felt down Sherlock’s neck, chest, stomach, legs… He remembered the way John’s hands had felt as well, how they had explored every inch of Sherlock’s body, been around him, in him. Sherlock remembered the smell of the room, pure sex and endorphins and sweat and John and himself. He remembered John’s voice, the way it had sounded as he moaned and as yelled Sherlock’s name as he climaxed. 

Sherlock hummed lightly at the memory, the memory of their first night together — and, he hoped, not the last — and stored it away, deep in his Mind Palace, along with all the other memories he had of John, and all the little things he did to and for John that earned him a chuckle or a smile. 

He turned his head back and saw his… partner? Lover? Boyfriend? God, no, not _boyfriend_ , that was too juvenile. He saw his John, still asleep, mouth slightly ajar, breathing heavily, face completely relaxed. His hair was still a bit moist from the night before and there were red and purple love bites all over the lower part of his neck and his chest. Beautiful. Sherlock’s chest swelled in pride when he saw those marks. Those were proof that John belonged to him. And the ones he had on his own skin were proof that he belonged to John. Sherlock never wanted them to fade. 

Growing a bit bored of just lying there, Sherlock decided to get up and take care of an experiment he had been running. He could wake John up and maybe get a little morning snog, but he looked so warm and comfortable, Sherlock felt guilty about bringing him out of his slumber. _It really must be love, then,_ Sherlock thought with a silent snort as he pondered the idea of actually being considerate to another human being’s needs. Although, this wasn’t merely another human being. This was John, and John was better than everyone else. 

Sherlock shrugged out of John’s grip with some difficulty, but managed successfully, without waking up the sleeping doctor. He then found his pants and rummaged through the dark for a T-shirt, finding one and putting it straight on without paying much attention. Sherlock picked up his blue dressing gown from the floor, then left the room in silence, still not wanting to disturb John. 

At the kitchen, Sherlock glanced at the microwave clock and saw that it was 6AM. He sighed, scratched his hair and went about his mourning routine of tea — though it always tasted better when John made it —, brushing teeth and shaving, because it was a Thursday, and Sherlock shaved every Thursday. After drying his cheeks, Sherlock went back to the kitchen and took the appendices out of the fridge, then he began taking the cultures necessary for his experiment. 

Around two hours later, Sherlock was still working on the appendices, now observing the effect of his compound after resting for one hour as opposed to 5 and 30 minutes. He was looking at a tiny piece of flesh through the microscope when he heard John come out of his room, walking slower than usual due to total relaxation and residual sleepiness. Sherlock heard him go to the bathroom, the sound of water running as he brushed his teeth, toilet flushing, them more water running as he washed his hands. A few moments later, John appeared through the threshold of the kitchen, smiling groggily — but more awake nonetheless — at Sherlock, and Sherlock hadn’t realised until now that he had been nervous about seeing John in the morning, because the tight knot that had been in the bottom of his stomach since he had woken up quickly dissipated at the sight of John’s warm, loving smile. 

‘Morning,’ John greeted, going straight for the kettle. Sherlock wasn’t offended because he knew John Watson could not function in the morning before his first warm cuppa, so he simply waited. Waited as the water boiled and John prepared two mugs, then put one to his mouth and took a seemingly refreshing sip. ‘Oh, that’s brilliant,’ he sighed happily. Sherlock still had his eyes glued to the microscope, though he wasn’t too focused on the appendix anymore. 

John walked towards him and placed a mug next to the microscope. Sherlock straightened his back and felt John’s arms snaking around his waist, trapping him comfortably, as he rested his chin on Sherlock’s shoulder. 

‘Hi,’ he said. 

‘Hi,’ Sherlock replied quietly, barely hearing his own voice through the thumping sound of his heartbeat in his ears. John chuckled as though he was able to see his pulse — of course he could see it, he was right next to Sherlock’s pulse — and placed a warm, gentle kiss on the shell of Sherlock’s ear. 

‘How long have you been up?’ John asked, still pressing feather-light kisses along Sherlock’s ear, then down his jaw, and focusing more on his neck. 

Sherlock gulped. ‘Two hours, approximately.’ 

John hummed and then placed a firmer, wetter kiss right on Sherlock’s nape, inhaling his scent, and all Sherlock wanted to do was turn around, grab John and ravish him right on the worktop. Though Mrs Hudson might not appreciate it too much. 

Suddenly, John stopped and grew quiet. Sherlock turned around, worried that he did something wrong, even if he knew that was impossible, because had hadn’t even _done_ anything today. 

‘John?’ 

‘Are you wearing my t-shirt?’ John asked. He himself was only clad in his navy blue boxers and dressing gown. Sherlock looked down on himself and saw that, yes, he was, in fact, wearing the T-shirt John had been wearing the night before, the one that he had removed frantically before covering John’s chest with kisses. 

‘It was dark, so I just picked up the first one I saw. I apologise, John, if you wan—‘ he was interrupted by John’s chuckle. ‘What?’ 

‘It’s fine, Sherlock. Really, it’s just a T-shirt. Why don’t you keep it? I like to see you wearing something of mine,’ John said with a smirk and a wink, and Sherlock felt himself blush, which was ridiculous because he was _Sherlock bloody Holmes_ and he _did not_ blush. John’s grin grew wider, and he pressed his lips to Sherlock’s, chaste and comfortable, like they’d been doing this forever. Then he gave Sherlock another smile and moved to the sitting room with his cup of tea and a copy of The Independent. 

Sherlock sat there for a bit, just revelling in the warmth of John, and his smell, surrounding him in the form of a simple RAMC T-shirt, and he thought to himself, _I will definitely keep this_. With a small smile, he went back to work.


End file.
